I’m writing this here. Because I don’t know any other way to ensure my rights. I understand I am in crisis, and I may not be able to verbalize that to you. I won’t, actually. I’ll be scared and confused. When I write I’m different. I’m confident.
Listen, I’m not going to hurt anyone or kill anyone, or hurt or kill myself. I believe everyone has to have their own journey to God, and you can read My Wish later if you want to see that journey. I bring this up because I made a pact to whatever this “god” thing is that I won’t purposely and intentionally hurt myself to the point of death. That if I feel it reaches some kind of physical or mental crisis point I will find help. However that help may come. And that this “god” thing guides me to the help. So, I promise not to end my life or purposely and intentionally injure myself. In return, I get…
Well, I don’t know. There is the answer right? I trust. There is a reason. And so far the return that this thing has given me is great. I mean, I had it great. Then lost it. All of it. I feel. An injury that threw me. I don’t need anymore injuries. There is a reason and I trust that and I am telling you that. I trust that there is a reason, a purpose, something I can’t see, something better (hopefully!) But I threw my trust into that something and it worked. So, I’m going with what works. You are looking at some one who is fighting to live.
So, we got that out of the way. Now, condition two. I am Sicilian. Putzo really nailed the family thing. He was really right in that. No, really right. You want to ask me the one thing I won’t do? Leave the family. My father needs help. My mother needs help. My sister needs help. Now, I understand I can’t help anyone else while I am sinking, but I need a closer lifeboat then the one I have. And there is the problem right there. I am fighting for an apartment I don’t want in an attempt to gain a better apartment in a better place.
I am in physical pain. I had back surgery. Emergency back surgery. I have a doctor’s note that says I can’t live in my apartment. And the landlord is doing everything she can to evict me right now. Everything she can. And I want to leave, I need to leave. But, I need the Affordable Housing Alliance. Because Section 8 fell through and went to shit and I fell through that crack. And I need rental property under Affordable Housing to afford an apartment. Because now I don’t have a job anymore. I can’t live with my family but I can’t live too far away because we need each other. I cannot navigate the stairs to my current apartment and quite frankly the only thing I’m using it for is storage currently. And having an eviction on my record sucks but… I mean come on what would you like me to do right now? I am IN PAIN.
Yeah, in pain. I wasn’t supposed to even clean the damn apartment. But I did. I did it. MYSELF. AFTER SURGERY. ON MY BACK. THAT WE AREN’T SURE ISN’T AN INFECTION. Oh, yeah, and that surgery didn’t fix the actual problem. It just made the traumatizing pain I was in before less traumatizing. So, if you are talking about a hospital here, I need PHYSICAL help. I need doctors to look at my spine and manage my pain. I need the tests to get done quicker then they are getting done and running between doctors to fix this and get out of pain. Because there is a problem with my spine that needs to be fixed but everyone is on this “addict” kick that I just get thrown in with psych. Yeah, I was. I had a herniated bulging disc the size of a softball sitting on my sciatic nerve telling this doctor to look at the MRI and she… actually… put… me.. in.. a.. psych.. hold.
Because I was complaining of back pain. Two days later I went to the Pain management doctor, and when she looked at the MRI she freaked out and found a doctor who would do something to alleviate the pain right then and there. And that doctor told me this was not a fix. I would not be out of pain. I needed to do more surgery. This was to stop the current problem of pain. It was not a fix.
So my back is screwed up. I don’t feel I’m necessarily in psychological crisis of mental illness because who the hell would not be in some kind of crisis seeking help with what’s going on.
- I just had back surgery
- I will need more back surgery and possibly have an infection
- I am being evicted from my apartment.
- I cannot move the stuff out of my apartment because of back surgery.
- Social Security is telling me I owe them money. Even though I sent the paperwork now. Twice. And they are simultaneously paying me more while also cutting my check. So, yeah. I don’t know either.
- So on top of being evicted, Social Security is trying to sue me for money I was told by the office I don’t owe. But that office didn’t talk to the other office… I guess… So… tackle another $5,000 on top of the rent landlord wants to sue me for.
- So, I am being evicted from an apartment I can’t move out of, for not maintaining an apartment I have a doctor’s note that says I cannot maintain. And she wants to take me to court over the recycling bin…
- And my father needs my help. He is sick. He raised me. The man raised me. With my mother. My sister has always been my sister when I needed her to be. And these people need my help now. And I will help them too.
Sigh, so, in conclusion: Social Security is suing me for money they told me I don’t owe them, I am being evicted for failing to maintaining an apartment I have a doctor’s note that says I cannot maintain. I can barely move myself, and am further injuring myself every time I force myself to maintain an apartment my doctor says will kill me if I try to maintain. But I can’t hire a maid because it’s expensive and I have a goddamned crazy woman who lives downstairs that throws a temper-tantrum in front of a 9 year old chasing my maid away, as well as any future potential maids or townspeople. I already paid one who ran off. We aren’t doing this again. I gave my father paperwork to put in his mailbox to go to social security, and he came back with the mail I gave him, telling me he didn’t know what it was, and why Social Security is sending him stuff. And the actual mail he left in the mailbox, thinking that’s what I gave him to send. And I sort of laughed. And he looked so hurt. He cried. I need to be closer to him. My mother is older than my father, she can’t take care of him alone, on top of my sister. If I have to be a full time caretaker I want to be paid for it. And I need a place of my own to go to when it gets to hard to be with them constantly.
Where do I go? What do I need to do?